


Reckless

by Eruphadriel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angry Kissing, F/M, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eruphadriel/pseuds/Eruphadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Triss Trevelyan returns from a dangerous encounter with a Ferelden Frostback, and Cullen is not happy about it. Things get heated, but not in the way either of them expects...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reckless

The door to the War Room burst open and crashed against the adjacent wall. Triss jumped at the sound, glancing up from the map splayed out over the table. Cullen trudged inside, the long, scarlet-and-gold tail of his raiment fluttering behind him. Snow flecked his hair and black-red "plumage", as Triss had taken to calling it. He sauntered towards the table with purpose, hot anger bubbling up his throat and forming a shout.

  
"What's this I hear from Bull and Sera?" he demanded. "Something about a dragon?"

  
It took a moment for his words to register. "Oh!" she gasped, then a proud smile lit up her face. "Yes. The Ferelden Frostback is dead."

  
Cullen reached the table and pinched the bridge of his nose between two gloved fingers. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Inquisitor. How exactly did it die?"

  
"Screaming. Wait, that may have been Bull." She tapped her chin. She giggled that annoying little giggle that drove Cullen up the wall. "Or Dorian?"

  
Cullen's blood ran ice cold. Then his whole body was an inferno. "So it's true. You walked _straight_ into its lair and challenged it."

  
Triss shrugged. "How else were we going to kill it? Inviting it out for tea and cakes? The beast was causing nothing but trouble -- not to mention its whelps."

  
"Maker's Breath, Triss!" he bellowed. "You told _nobody_ of this quest, went in with _no_ backup but for your own party... What were you thinking?"

  
She stiffened, muscles taut at the sheer volume of his voice. "I was _thinking_ ," she snapped, "of the farm livestock, the children of the Hinterlands, and everyone else who might have faced the dragon's wrath."

  
With one finger, Triss slowly tipped over the goblet of wine she had been drinking. Its crimson contents spilled over the map, sprawling over Ferelden and breaching the border of Orlais. Irritation pricked beneath Cullen's skin. He felt a headache brewing. As it soaked the sands of Tevinter, she spoke in a hiss.

  
"You would have these lands dyed red with the blood of the innocent. So long as Corypheus is defeated, to hell with the cost, yes? I would not see such a future come to pass. I would save all those I can."

  
"That map took months to create, Inquisitor. You destroyed it for dramatic effect?"

  
"You would watch the real world burn," she shot back. "Who cares for a bit of parchment and ink, should all it represents fall to dragonfire, anarchy, and ruin? After all, this wine is worth more to you than their blood, isn't it?"

  
Cullen circled the table and came to stand beside her. With one sweep of his hand, he cast the goblet across the room. It clattered against the opposing wall and rolled in a weak semicircle, dregs spilling across the floor like blood splatter. Triss stood perfectly still, not even flinching.

  
"It's just as I warned Lady Cassandra," he spat the words. "Give an outlier power, and she will incite madness across the land."

  
"Madness? You call rescuing innocents from that which is a bigger threat than they have defences for, _madness_?" She held up her marked hand as if to strike him. " _This_ isn't the only way I plan to help people, Cullen."

  
He reached out and grabbed her wrist. " _This_ is our only weapon against Corypheus. If you die, it dies with you. You are not the only person effected by your death, Triss. Thus you should _not_ be the only one who has a say in your, your... reckless quests!"

  
Triss jerked away from him, rubbing her wrist. It reddened within seconds. "So that's all I am to you? A weapon? Why not chop my hand off and be rid of the rest? You've made no secret of your distaste for me, after all."

  
Cullen opened his mouth to respond, but Triss beat him to it.

  
"I know what you think of me! Uncouth, boorish, crude -- call it what you will, it isn't good enough for the Inquisition's golden commander, is it?"

  
She spun around and shoved her arm elbow-deep into her bag, which sat atop the table. She withdrew a crescent-shaped object, its black surface rippling glossily like obsidian in the torchlight. Triss shoved it at Cullen's chest, and he caught it.

  
"I stayed behind to harvest this for you! I stopped and searched for someone who could craft it into a proper drinking horn! I spent the entire journey home making sure it was good enough!" She tore her fingers through her dark hair, still unwashed from the long journey. Cullen swore he saw her eyes glisten with tears.

  
"And I return to you shouting at me, pointing out my stupidity? Has it occurred to you that I'm just as terrified as you are? That perhaps this 'inquisitor' thing is new to me?" She held up her hand again. "That I can't rip this off and give it to someone like you, no matter how many nights I stay up wishing I could?"

  
He cradled the drinking horn in his hands. She had even added a strap to it. "Someone like me?"

  
"Perfect!" she cried after a moment of sputtering. "Compared to me, at least! Chantry-educated choir boy, all clad in shining armour!"

  
Cullen's fingers found a carving on the rim. Through his glove, he recognized the letters. R-U-T-H-E--

  
"The first moment I saw you, I knew you hated me," she continued hotly. "I knew from the looks you gave me across the training yard that you'd rather bear this burden than see me squander it!"

  
\-- R-F-O-R-D. He squeezed the horn, then set it down on the table.

  
"You can admit it now. You can shout it!" Triss stepped closer and turned her face. "You can slap me. Every time I open my mouth, you clench your fist, and I know you're just _aching_ to --"

  
Cullen's lips crashed against hers so suddenly, and with such force, that Triss stumbled backwards. She made a noise of surprise against his mouth. He grabbed her face with both hands and pushed her against the wall. He expected shame to flood through him, but instead his body flushed with heat. One of his hands fell to explore the curve of her waist. It came to rest on her hip. The other braced against the wall.

  
When he at last pulled away, Triss clasped his face between her hands and with a soft, "Mmno", she pulled him back into the kiss. Her hands were rough and calloused against his skin, coarse blisters scraping against his stubbly jaw. He nearly lost himself in her when the tip of her tongue ran across his lower lip. Cullen grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away as he himself back off.

  
"You almost died," he said in a growl, within him outrage and desire fighting for dominance. "Never do that again."

  
Triss grabbed his chin, her fingers digging into his cheek. "Never to _that_ again," she countered, and then smirked. "Without warning me first."

  
She let go, and he backed away. Cullen bumped into the table. His fury fading, the commander bowed his head.

  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I was angry because, I... I was scared, and I... That was..."

  
Triss giggled that enticing, maddening giggle that made Cullen's heart stutter. " _Now_ who's uncouth, choir boy?"

  
She pressed a kiss to his scarred lip. It was gentler than he had expected Triss could ever be. To be sure, he was still angry. But he couldn't remember why.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, feedback is appreciated and encouraged.


End file.
